


My Only Weakness

by nyuclear



Category: The Boyz (Korea Band)
Genre: Bonnie & Clyde but it's skincare products instead of useful things, College, Crimes & Criminals, M/M, Partners in Crime, Shoplifting, Strangers to Lovers, write what you know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:15:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25016857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nyuclear/pseuds/nyuclear
Summary: One day, while redeeming a 5 finger discount, Chanhee gets intercepted by a handsome stranger.He thinks it's all over.That is, until the stranger decides to join him.
Relationships: Choi Chanhee | New/Kim Younghoon
Comments: 10
Kudos: 101





	My Only Weakness

**Author's Note:**

> Title from _Shoplifters of the World Unite_ by The Smiths: a song that's about shoplifting on a surface level, but - like every other Smiths song - is actually about fornicating with men. You dig?
> 
> Mature rating but I don't really delve into the buttsex. Sorry fujos.

Chanhee stands in the middle of the aisle, bouncing on the balls of his feet. His hands twitch towards his pockets. Then back to his thighs. _Don't do that,_ he scolds himself.

He looks at the top row (he can afford it, this time) and skims over product names. His eyes flit from corner to corner; left, right, left. His ear prick up for the sound of footsteps. None – just the chatter of suburban women aisles away from him, and the humming of supermarket lights.

One more flicker of his eyes, and he goes for it. Reaches his hand to the boxed tube of BB Cream in his sight. Tugs it from the shelf. Turns his body a slight angle from the camera - the one he knows is at the bottom. Slides his clammy fist to his pocket. Drops the box in.

Chanhee nudges from foot to foot, feeling the weight settle to his side like undigested food. He swallows, and turns to leave the aisle.

As he turns, he catches a flicker of a long black _something._

His feet stick to the ground. His throat clams up.

At the mouth of the aisle is a tall, dark haired man. He’s in a black puffer jacker – perfect for shoplifting, Chanhee thinks – and he looks at him, utterly bewildered. Chanhee blinks. The man’s agape face folds, falls into a sheepish smile.

 _This is it,_ Chanhee thinks _. I’m done for._

“I…” Chanhee chokes out.

Before he can say anything, the man mouths at him.

_Anyone behind me?_

Chanhee’s eyes fall to the rows of bread behind him.

He shakes his head.

A quick dart of a long, cloaked arm, and Chanhee watches as he tosses a tub of middle-shelf moisturiser into his pocket.

The man shifts his head to look behind Chanhee, fear and adrenaline glazing his eyes. The tension in his muscles sags beneath his jacket, and he turns back to him, smiling awkwardly. Chanhee remains stoic, head racing.

“See you.”

And with that, the man turns away, a burst of velocity to his step.

Chanhee watches his back fade into myriad of groceries. He trickles behind him like molasses, taking a can of iced coffee off the shelves. _Always buy something_ – one of many of his arbitrary rules.

He pays for it at the self-service checkout, with the change in his other pocket (avoid cashiers if possible – another rule). He catches a flash of the tall black something to his side. Resists the urge to watch him leave.

He yanks the receipt out the machine and fists his change into his pocket. He walks out, to the nonchalance of the underpaid staff around him. The BB Cream clings like sweat to his upper thigh.

Outside, the cold wind whips his cheeks red. He looks around for a tall mop of black hair.

Nothing.

He stuffs his hands in his pockets; fingers fidgeting with the lid of the box. He thinks about him the whole walk home.

Picking something from the middle shelf?

Fucking amateur.

-

Shoplifting. Robbery. Larceny. Petty theft. Five finger discount. A rose by any other name would smell as sweet; still not as sweet as the stolen, floral mist Chanhee is using to perfume his neck. 

Technically, it should have cost ₩120000.

It didn't.

He’d finished slathering his face with creams and make-up (all stolen), and was halfway down his bottle of Hite Exfeel (paid for). He looks back to his reflection. The lightbulbs around his vanity mirror made his bronzer gleam grotesquely, and his pink lip tint was slightly _too_ pink against his skin. He sighs.

He puts the mist down and sifts through his drawer for the final touch, a bottle of setting spray. He clanks through trays and trays of eyeshadow and blusher – some opened, some sealed, some still with security tags he couldn’t break – and fishes out a bottle.

He rolls it in his palm and thinks, much to his own irritation, about _him_ again. He wonders - not for the first time - if he was undercover staff. Loss prevention. He seemed decidedly too handsome to be wasting his time floating around in a large jacket, trying to outsmart shoplifters. He had the air of someone too rich for supermarket jobs, too.

Chanhee didn’t subscribe to the idea that he was a part of loss prevention, but still. You can never be too sure. He decides to avoid that store for a month or so. Tries to suppress the way his heart wains slightly, at the thought of never bumping into him again.

He squeezes around the setting spray bottle, grip firm.

 _Stupid_.

Closing his eyes, he sprays his whole face. Coughs when some lands in his slightly parted lips.

He grabs the bottle of beer, spluttering, guzzling the rest down to flush the taste away. Slams it on the table. Opens his eyes to his own face, slightly redder this time… _not just from alcohol,_ , he thinks. He grits his teeth.

One final cough and he stands. Checks his phone. A single _where r u?_ illuminates his face. Jacob is waiting for him outside the nearest Itaewon gay bar, where he was meant to be 5 minutes ago. He sends a quick _just leaving_ and hurries out the door.

Maybe he’ll fuck someone tonight. He doesn’t sleep around much, but he needs it tonight.

He opens the door. A warm autumnal breeze licks around him.

Chanhee closes his eyes. Basks in it.

The door slams behind him, rattling like the metal of a jail cell.

-

Two weeks and one one-night-stand later, he sees him. His heart halts, along with the loot banging across his thigh.

This time it’s him, toeing at the mouth of the aisle. Watching him. He’s in the alcohol aisle, eyeing over the premixed cans. He looks careful, calculated this time. A distant memory of the blushing jester who juggled moisturisers with sweaty palms.

Chanhee never stole alcohol, but if he did, he’d steal these. Innocuous, small cylinders. Cold, could be wrapped tight in a bigger man’s hand.

The other man does a play-by of every little thing Chanhee does. He feels a wash of pride, before he shakes his head at himself. _Stupid. You didn’t teach him this._

But he did, didn’t he?

Chanhee watches him twist his body from the CCTV, body swathed in a large winter coat. Encourages him internally, as his eyes focus on his prize. Waits as his eyes flit left, right, le-

He sees him.

Chanhee smiles. Takes it as a cute to bounce up next to him.

He stands next to him. Looks up at his face. He has the same bewildered look as last time, but this time, there's a slight a glint in his eye. Something clever.

Chanhee positions himself so he’s shielding his pocket.

The man - much to Chanhee’s surprise - gets it.

His hand leaps up, swiping 2 cans with one hand. He drops them both to the pocket closest to Chanhee; swift, immediate, fearless. He turns towards him. The corners of his lips twitch; a silent thanks.

Chanhee tingles all over, cheeks matching the same shade of his hair.

He turns to leave.

Mindless, Chanhee bounces behind him. Matches his pace. His basket of alcohol and snacks rattle next to him.He figures he’s walking to the self-service checkout.

He is.

They both take adjacent machines and scan their small piles. Chanhee is giddy, constantly fidgeting. He grabs his biscuits and throws them in a bag.

He gets to the bottle of soju and remembers, all too late, that they’ll ID him.

He scans it anyway. Places it in the bag. The sign above him flickers from green to red.

Sweat forms on his back, and suddenly, his jacket is way too heavy. He feels eyes flicker on the side of his head. He doesn’t dare look back.

A cashier walks towards him. He yanks his wallet out. She’ll ascribe the blush on his cheeks to alcohol, he hopes. Prays.

She glances over the ID and hums, leaning over to authorise the purchase. Her body pushes close to Chanhee’s pocket – the one protruding slightly – and his temples flare up.

He hears the automated voice ring out the mystery man’s purchase. Hears him gathering his things.

Before he can feel anything, his checkout screen flashes.

 _Authorised_.

The warmth of the cashier’s body is gone. Alone again. He presses his notes into the mouth of the machine. Doesn't bother with the change. He walks out, eyes straining forward. He mumbles out a _thank you_ behind him – too high pitched, too warbly. _Great, another store I can’t hit up for a month._

He flounders out to the open air, eyes scouring in front of him. Excepting, once again, to see nothing. No-one.

The electric doors close behind him.

Chanhee gazes out to the horizon.

He’s there.

Standing at the edge of the parking lot.

It’s dusk. He’s silhouetted against the velveteen night by the glow of his phone. Chanhee falters. Wonders if it’s worth it. If he’s made enough of an ass of himself already.

The cold air hits his face. It grounds him. He breathes, deep. Settles on his fate.

He walks to where he is. Chanhee's much slower, more calm and collected than he feels. His guts pirouette inside him.

When he gets halfway across the lot, the man quirks his head up. Chanhee shrivels up inside, but he keeps walking. The man smiles at him, one edge of his lips upturned more than the other. _Always fucking smiling_ , Chanhee thinks, bitter.

Chanhee gets within reaching distance. And stops.

They blink at each other. Silent.

“Are you… are you normally that shit at…?” the other man waves his hand towards Chanhee’s pocket.

Chanhee presses his lips together, arms folding across his chest.

Chanhee parses a fleeting thought as it flickers in the other man’s eyes. His face softens, his smirk fading with the sun behind him

“Sorry,” he’s hushed now, “shouldn’t really talk about it… here.” Chanhee nods.

“Follow me?” The man points his thumb to the park in the distance.

Chanhee nods again.

They walk towards the entrance in silent tandem, Chanhee desperately matching his pace to his. Their feet fall into a slow, conjoined rhythm. Chanhee turns his head from the park to the sky. His neck strains slightly. The sun hasn’t totally set yet, but the stars… the stars are so bright. So warm.

The man next to him coughs.

He brings his head back down, arm flapping against his sides.

“So, as I was saying," he starts, "are you normally that shit?”

Chanhee considers bolting, but there’s a tinge of humour to his voice. So he stays.

His eyes flicker towards the man, and he burns under his gaze. Flits his eyes back to the metal bars surrounding the park. Chanhee can feel his warmth radiating to his side. Gulps.

“I’ve been doing this for years, “ he says, defensive.

The man snorts. “Didn’t seem like it.”

Chanhee’s indignant, folding his arms again.

“Hey… wasn’t, wasn’t that time before _your_ first time?” Chanhee responds.

The man turns his head to him. Chanhee meets his gaze.

His eyebrow is quirked, and Chanhee's filled with the sudden urge to punch him.

“My first time?" he replies, "Thank you _very_ much for popping my cherr-“

Chanhee smacks his arm.

He laughs, the sound loud, echoing around the trees. Chanhee, to his own surprises, blurts out a giggle too.

They were nearly at the park.

“What’s your name?” the stranger asks.

“Chanhee.”

“Cool. I'm Younghoon.”

Before Chanhee can blurt out a lame _nice to meet you_ , Younghoon is running for the fence of the park, bag of groceries rattling like maracas.

“Youngh-“

The other man clears it, landing knee first in a pile of dirt. Chanhee doubles his pace towards the railing.

Younghoon’s recovered by the time he’s there, slightly limping.

The fence reached up to Chanhee’s chest. How the hell did he-

“Hey, dump your bag over here and I’ll catch you,” the strange- _Younghoon_ , says, reaching out his hands.

__

Chanhee doesn’t want too. He’s too delicate, bruised like a bag of peaches; but he doesn’t want to turn down a chance in this tall stranger’s arm.

__

So he dumps his bag of soju and crackers. Wedges a foot through the bars of the fences. Leaps.

__

He fumbles over the top but makes it, landing in a heap in Younghoon’s arms.

__

He holds him from behind, mumbling _steady_ as Chanhee finds his feet under him.

__

His body is so warm. Musky, heady with the scent of aftershave and slight sweat. Chanhee nudges the back of his head into it, before he realises what he’s doing.

__

He shoves away, balancing tentatively on his feet.

__

“Good?” Younghoon asks.

__

Chanhee bends down, knocks the dirt off his pants before he turns around, a huge, dumb smile plastered on his face.

__

“Yeah, I’m good.”

__

Younghoon smiles back, just as big. “Good.”

__

Chanhee’s heart leaps into his throat, before he can tell it not too.

__

They make their way to the swings, Younghoon tossing him one of his cans.

__

“On the house,” he says.

__

Chanhee snorts.

__

They sit down and crack their cans, starting off with slow, gentle swings and sips. Chanhee revels in the breeze, long bare legs dancing beneath him, the sickly taste of pre-canned daiquiri on his tongue. He drinks, trying not to chug. He needs all the liquid courage in the world right now. He has to make this last.

__

Younghoon take a ravenous gurgle of his can and smack his lips. Chanhee’s nose scrunches.

__

“So,” Younghoon starts, mouth thick with whatever sugary delight he saved for himself, “how did you start… y’know?”

__

“Y’know...? Y’know what?”

__

The breeze blows gently between their swings, lapping around any small silence between them. Chanhee breathes out.

__

“You know… _lifting_.” Younghoon’s mouth hangs heavy around the word.

__

Chanhee takes a moment, choosing his words in his head. He sips his drink again, the alcohol settling into his stomach like genteel waves. He kicks his swing again, and starts.

__

“I… it was when I was 18,” he coughs, “I’d joined uni, and I was spending all my fucking money on accommodation and textbooks. I just… I was in a dorm room with 2 girls - great girls, don’t get me wrong, but you should have seen their make-up desks...”

__

Younghoon hums next to him, glugging a bit more of his drink. Chanhee takes it as a sign to keep going.

__

“Millions of won worth of shit. And I hate to admit it, but… I was jealous. I had to save money to buy the fancy crab ramens at 7/11, you know? So, one time, when I was with them in some high-end cosmetics bullshit store, I thought… _I want that too_. And – whoops – some serum accidentally landed in my pocket.”

__

Younghoon laughs, and kicks his swing higher. Chanhee beams at the sound. It’s deep, it’s warm, it’s him.

__

“Have you ever been caught?”

__

Chanhee shakes his head. “No… not… not yet.”

__

Rule number whateverth of shoplifting: it doesn’t matter how good you are, you are not infallible. You _will_ get caught, you just haven’t got caught yet.

__

“Yet? Hm…”

__

Chanhee opens his mouth. Closes it.

__

“Maybe I should give up while I’m ahead,” Younghoon says - not so much to him, but to the distance.

__

Chanhee chances a look at Younghoon. He’s gazing deep into the sky, a wistful look etched in his face. Chanhee sees the Belt of Orion flicker in his irises. Hisbreath stutters, slightly out of tune with the beat of the wind.

__

He looks back at him.

__

“Yeah. Maybe I should give up,” he says, “I’m rich enough to buy all the things I lift anyway. I’m appropriating your struggle.”

__

Chanhee blows air out his nose, smiling.

__

“I don’t need anything I lift anymore now, either. It’s just…”

__

“…habit?”

__

“Habit.”

__

“Maybe we should call a truce.”

__

Younghoon slides from his now-still swing down to the grass. Chanhee follows, slightly more unsteady. _Curse masc men and their alcohol tolerances._

__

Younghoon leans back, balanced on his two spread hands. The one closest to Chanhee nudges towards him, towards where his palm has fell loose on the ground.

__

Chanhee looks down; Younghoon’s immaculately groomed nails nearly poking into Chanhee’s bitten ones.

__

Air catches in his throat .

__

Younghoon looks at him. Questioning. Silent.

__

Chanhee presses his lips together.

__

“I wanna get drunk,” Younghoon says.

__

Chanhee’s breathing collapses like dominoes in slow motion, as he swipes his hand away. He yanks the soju out of his bag. Waves it towards him.

__

He grins.

__

“Thanks," Younghoon says, "I’ll pay you back.”

__

Chanhee lets out a small _hmm_. Unscrews the top.

__

The next few hours are filled with shared swigs and shooting the shit, the sweeping grass running between their fingers. They talk about lifting. They talk about everything else, backs sinking into the muddy marsh between them. They talk about what Chanhee’s studying at uni (“Performing arts?” Younghoon scoffs, “You wanted to be a kpop idol, didn’t you?”), and what Younghoon does (“My dad runs a company so I work office, and…” “Silver spoon fuck-“ A punch to the arm.)

__

The bottle runs dry. No-one bothers to check the time, the stars turning kaleidoscopic before them.

__

“Hey…” Younghoon slurs, “hey, I forgot to ask…”

__

Chanhee grasps his hand around his tricep, all pretensions of civility gone.

__

“Y- yeah…?” he slurs back, just as bad.

__

“What were you lifting? To… today, I mean.”

__

Chanhee hiccups. “Uh….. I… I- uh…”

__

Younghoon reaches his other hand around to clasp his forearm. The night is cold, much colder than it was when they started. The heat from their hands burn up. Younghoon grips his fingers harder, revels in the way Chanhee tremors.

__

“I… c-“

__

“What?”

__

They’re hushing now.

__

“Co… condoms,” Chanhee half says, half whispers.

__

The last syllable falls on a whispers. Younghoon snorts, and squeezes his hand again.

__

“Who’s the lucky girl?”

__

“I-“

__

Younghoon laughs, breaking the empty air between their bodies.

__

“Do I look like I fuck girls?” Chanhee says, indignant.

__

Younghoon lets his hand go and turns on his side, looking down at Chanhee. They both grin; dumb, content.

__

“Hey, Chanhee?”

__

“Huh?”

__

“How much you wanna bet I can still get hard after half a bottle?”

__

Chanhee’s eyes widen, round like globes.

__

Younghoon smiles.

__

“I bet, I bet… uh….”

__

Younghoon grabs him before he can finish.

__

-

__

They end up in the bushes that night. They’re a 3 kilometre radius from the store, a 3 mile radius away from anywhere else - infinetly lucky. Chanhee can recall fleeting details – his smell, the way he told him he was close, the way he pressed his palm against his mouth when he started squealing.

__

He wishes he remembered more.

__

He wakes up, branches prickling his skin, a meaty lump of sweat next to him.

__

The sun hasn’t risen yet, but it’s about to.

__

He almost forgets his name.

__

“Yeo- Younghoon!” he shakes his body. Younghoon jolts up. He blinks at Chanhee for a second, before his mouth falls in realisation. He scrambles for his dirt-covered clothes, with more coherency than a hungover man should have.

__

Chanhee follows his lead, reaching for his own shorts and shirt.

__

5 minutes later, they stand up. Younghoon grabs him and holds him to his side, sensing his wobbling legs.

__

Their eyes are bleary. They can barely look at each other.

__

“Hey…”

__

“Hey.”

__

Their voices are equally groggy, mouths filled with cotton balls.

__

“I…. fuck… the store… I’ll phone a cab.”

__

They stumble towards it, plumping for the park entrance instead of the walls.

__

Chanhee ends up home safe, somehow. He remembers bits of it; getting in a cab, and a less-than-impressed driver kicking him out to his house. Patting his pockets and pulling out a packet of condoms; sighing in relief when it was opened, an empty wrapper tucked inside.

__

When he finishes going through his mental itinerary, he reaches for his phone.

__

_how r u?_

__

_younghoon btw_

__

Unknown number.

__

He replies with _hiiiiii_ , before splashing his face with cold water. Falls back into his bed. He has a lecture tomorrow, you know.

__

-

__

It’s a weekly affair.

__

One of them would text the location of a store and a time, and they’d meet up. Then they’d ram as much possible in their pockets, bags, backpacks, whatever they had. Then they'd scram. Afterwards, they’d phone a cab (always paid by Younghoon), straight to whoever’s apartment was closest.

__

You know the rest.

__

Chanhee was never a kleptolagniac, but having sex after his latest lifting spree was wiring his brain differently. He didn’t lift on his own anymore. The one time he tried, he missed Younghoon. Missed him much deeper, much harder than he wanted to. That, and he had a chub walking out the store, which was just embarrassing for everyone.

__

Their sex turned into hours of pillow talk, the pillow talk turned into staying the night, the staying the night turned into breakfast in bed. They started going to other places too, places you couldn’t really steal from – McDonald’s, nature trails, cocktail bars.

__

They still lifted out of habit, but the piling mountains of merchandise in their bedrooms began to mean less and less.

__

All the lines in Chanhee’s life were being blurred, one by one.

__

He didn’t have the heart to complain.

__

-

__

“We should give it up.”

__

Chanhee puts his phone down and turns to him.

__

They’d had this conversation a hundred times. It always ended the same way – with them waddling out of supermarket with full pockets.

__

Younghoon looks different this time. Solemnity over his face, wrinkles set deep in his forehead.

__

Chanhee hums.

__

“Yeah. We should...” Chanhee says, “for real this time. We can’t be lucky forever.”

__

Younghoon nods, still grave.

__

“Should we have one last hurrah?” Younghoon asks.

__

Chanhee falls out the bed, reaching for his jeans. Younghoon follows him.

__

-

__

There were signs; signs that a Chanhee of the distant past would have caught. The present Chanhee had traded acuteness for infatuation, agility for hand-holding. The current Chanhee stood next to a man who made him feel infallible.

__

That was his first mistake.

__

Rule 1: Don’t lift anything you can’t afford.

__

Chanhee spots a ₩200000 eyeshadow palette, untagged and unprotected on the shelf. He wonders if someone – God, maybe – is testing him.

__

He fails the test, the weight sinking into his pocket.

__

Rule 2: Don’t draw attention to yourself.

__

Younghoon’s feeling rather jovial after their talk. He keeps cracking jokes. Chanhee, damn his smitten heart, keeps laughing - much to the chagrin of the older shoppers and staff around him. Chanhee is aware of the former. Oblivious to the latter.

__

Rule 3: If you think you’re being watched, wait for a blank spot and dump your merchandise.

__

Chanhee feels the eyes of one staff member on his back, looking a bit too intently. He doesn’t tell Younghoon.

__

He thinks it’s because of his hair colour.

__

Rule 4: If staff ever stop you - run. Run and never look back.

__

They adhere to this one.

__

They’re 3 footfalls away from the door, pockets full, when someone taps Chanhee’s shoulder.

__

He turns.

__

It’s not Younghoon. It’s a security guard, in all black, a head taller than both of them.

__

_This is it,_ Chanhee thinks _. We’re done for._

__

“Can you come with me? Both of you.”

__

His voice is deep, unwavering. It leaves no room for argument.

__

Chanhee grasps Younghoon’s hand.

__

They’ve never discussed exit plans, but Younghoon understands.

__

They bolt for the revolving doors. Slide out a second before security jams it.

__

Into the deep cobalt blue, they bolt; wind carrying them to the distant horizon. The shouting behind them fades.

__

Chanhee drops Younghoon’s hand. He courses in front of him, more of an athlete Chanhee could ever be. Turns out, constant sex doesn’t actually improve your stamina. The hard ground slamming on Chanhee’s feet hurts, but not as much as a jail sentence would hurt. He grits his teeth, forces forward, eyes always on Younghoon.

__

They run past the playground, the place they had their first time. Chanhee calls to him.

__

“Hey, remember that bush?”

__

Younghoon hollers back, “I remember yours.”

__

He’d have punched him, if he was anywhere close to him.

__

They run. Run for what feels like hours. Miles. Run until they both collapse, in a heap on a hill, bodies begging for breath. Chanhee gazes at the stars. He has no clue where he is.

__

Chanhee gasps, huddles next to Younghoon. He reaches for his pockets, grasping around for his phone.

__

It’s not there.

__

“Younghoon, Hoonie… Google,” he gasps, “Google maps…”

__

“Can’t- can’t you do it?”

__

“Lost my phone.”

__

Younghoon sits up.

__

“Wanna look for it?”

__

Chanhee shakes his head against the grass, turning from the stars to Younghoon.

__

“Nah. Karma.”

__

Younghoon laughs. Pulls his phone out; finds out where they are.

__

Slicked with sweat, they pace towards the nearest road. A cab shows up a few minutes later.

__

They huddle in hushed tones in the back. _Bail money… never doing it again… should we move somewhere?_ Chanhee hopes the driver isn’t listening, hopes he's focused on the Twice song blaring from the stereo. Gravel crushes underneath them, Younghoon’s arm tight around his shoulders.

__

10 minutes later, they get dumped outside Younghoon’s apartment. Chanhee slides out into the night, to the reverbation of _fancy... you ooooooh_ and Younghoon’s rattling change. The driver eyes them both, weary, from the car window.

__

Chanhee shakes the feeling of something bad. It was okay. They made it. Here.

__

The car sinks into the night. Younghoon’s hand reaches for his. He grabs it, squeezes back. They stand, quiet; still of the night encased around them. Everything is cold and emotionless – except for their hands.

__

Chanhee looks down. The way their fingers intertwine remind him of a sailor’s knot. Sturdy. He'll never let go.

__

The walk to his apartment is silent.

__

The sex is, too.

__

Their smiles speak for themselves.

__

-

__

He wakes up to an ocean of blue. It’s still dark. He reaches for his phone to check the time. Then realises.

__

He sits up, naked.

__

Younghoon is standing at the bedroom window, shadow sunken against the blare of neon. Fully clothed.

__

He turns to him. His face is sober. Eyes empty.

__

“Police.”

__

Chanhee leaps up, hurls towards him..

__

_Bang. Bang. Bang._

__

“Chanhee,” Younghoon grabs his shoulders, pushes him from the window to the corner of his room. Chanhee’s eyes dampen

__

“Chanhee, hide in the closet. I’ll go outside. I’ve got a suitcase of money under my bed, use it for,” _bang bang bang_ – a loud _open up_ from the corridor, “use it for the bail.” Younghoon's voice falls into a whisper.

__

Tears course down Chanhee’s face, silent. Younghoon’s bottom lip wobbles.

__

“I can’t let you go,” Chanhee chokes. “This is _my_ fault.”

__

“It's our fault, Channie. And I can afford this. _You_ can’t.”

__

With that, Younghoon lets go. Opens the wardrobe door and pushes him in.

__

“I love you.”

__

It’s the first time he’s ever said it.

__

“I love you too.”

__

The door slams shut, the last syllable echoing around him. Chanhee sits, entombed in darkness.

__

He curls up. Lets the sobs rattle his body, chewing on a sweater sleeve. Body still naked. Body still cold.

__

Outside, Younghoon plunges into the river of azure.

__

**Author's Note:**

> Alexa, play _Bonnie & Clyde '03_ by Beyonce and Jay-Z.
> 
> Don't shoplift, kids. Your luck will always run out.


End file.
